


Because Some Angels Have Style

by astralgabriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Cross-Dressing Archangels, Fluff, Humor, Humour, M/M, Use of some Goddesses from mythology but only in minor roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralgabriel/pseuds/astralgabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the world of Sam and Dean Winchester, so it’s fair to say there’s a good chance everyone who has died could, and probably will, come back to life. The majority are stunned, as is everyone else, and just downright thankful they’re alive. But the odd one out? They have to put on a show, because some angels have style. Cross-dressing and slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because Some Angels Have Style

**Author's Note:**

> I may, if there's a good response to this, write a second part, which will most definitely be M rated, just so you know :)

Sam rapped his fingers against the cheap wooden table he lent against, in the latest cheap motel in what seemed like a never-ending string of cheap motels. It wasn’t like he’d leave the lifestyle and all it entailed given the choice: quite the opposite, actually. It was far too much a part of him now, interwoven into who he was. He would, however, tell young Sam back at Stanford to enjoy his days as an undergrad student in law given the chance, because despite those days seeming stressful, grown Sam knew that looking back in hindsight, they were bliss compared to what was to follow.

The two brothers were left sitting in the dingy motel, awaiting the return of Cas, who had decided hunting really was his true calling and joined the hunters full time. The angel had left to probe the town, see what information he could gather before the hunt really started. There were benefits to having an angel on your hunting team, Dean had realized whilst Cas was out. The rest of the time he had nothing to do but comb through the article that had lead them here in the first place, as without any clue as to what they were up against, they couldn’t research the lore.

Castiel returned within the hour, a blank look plastered onto his face but a bright gleam in his blue eyes, lighting them up in ways Dean hadn’t seemed before. They entranced him. He stood, froze to the spot, his angel only inches away. Staring.

“So, Cas,” Sam said rather loudly, hoping to kill the awkward in the room. Dean stumbled away, mumbling something under his breath about being manly and Castiel invading his personal space, and the angel turned to Sam. “Yes?”

“What’ve you got?” Sam asked. Castiel’s lips upturned for half a moment, before he forced himself into a neutral expression once more. Sam frowned, scrunching his eyes up, but dropped it. Dean had found his way to the fridge, shouting something about pie and cake and probably breasts to try and restore his non-existent heterosexuality.

“We’re dealing with a Pagan goddess. Her name is Atë, and she is the Greek goddess of mischief, delusion and folly. For all means and purposes, she is a trickster.” Sam nodded, the name ringing a bell. Dean walked back into the room, cursing around half a mouth of what was probably pie. “I fucking hate tricksters, you know that? She better be hot.” Sam almost laughed at how his brother was overcompensating, but managed to suppress it to a snigger under his breath. If he was honest, Sam didn’t exactly want to deal with a trickster either, but for different reasons. Sam didn’t want to be reminded of the last trickster they dealt with.

“I’ll, uh, get onto the lore research then, and call Garth, see if he has anything on her.” Dean gave him thumbs up, and wandered back to the kitchen, returning with an almost whole pie and two forks. Dropping them onto the table with little care, he went over to Castiel and dragged him over to the table by his backwards tie, then forced a fork into his hand. “Dig in.” The older Winchester commanded, and Cas, in the midst of his unexplained euphoria, didn’t protest for once.

Sam didn’t pay any attention to what happened around him after that, submersed in the deceiving ocean which was lore. The little he did find explained the news story: a man who died after a night of binge drinking, partying with strippers, and drugs. Third case of the kind that week. She was said to blind man to lead him to guilty and rash acts, and to take mankind down the path of ruin. Which made Sam all the more eager to find her, and as his brother would so crudely put it, “Gank the bitch”.

It was one, or sometime then, when he finally retired to bed. Phoning Garth had completely left his mind, and he hoped that alike the usual trickster and god(dess), Atë could be killed by a bloodied wooden stake through the heart.

Dean was the first to awake, Sam complete exhausted. He stretched his arms out, arching his back when he noticed the trench-coat clad figure in the corner of the room staring at him. “Cas!” he recoiled back to his usual position, pulling the duvet tight over his legs. “What the hell, man! Go creep on Sam or something!”

“I’m not… creeping?” The angel replied, tilting his head to the side and squinting at the hunter. “I am simply observing you during your slumber. It is quite fascinating, and you have never allowed me to do so for a prolonged period of time before.” Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, stumbling out of bed in a grey t-shirt and pants. He pulled the gun out from under his pillow, twisting it until the grip lay flat in his palm. He clamped a hand onto Cas’ shoulder.

“Look, at least be useful then, and whip us up some coffee or whatever.” The older hunter paused, his hand loosening slightly on the angel’s shoulder. “And some pie. Get me some pie.” He added as an afterthought, patting the angel on the back as the both left the room, one flying, one walking.

Dean wandered about the room, spinning the hand gun in his palm. 6:03 was painted in big red letters on the digital clock on the side. “Sammy! Rise and shine, big foot!”

“Mnpphhhh. Shut up Dean. ‘M sleeping”

Dean, deciding he was in a good mood today, pulled the duvet off of Sam, grinning as his younger brother stuck his middle finger up at him. “Come on kiddo, get up!” Sam winced ever so slightly at the nickname, but Dean seemed not to have noticed as he pulled the younger Winchester out of bed by his arm.

“Seriously dude,” Sam said, shaking Dean off, “What’s gotten into you? Did someone come back to life, or did you finally find your heterosexuality?” The last remark earned him a playful slap on the back of the head, which he swatted away again, rocking onto his feet.

“Pie, Sammy. I get pie for breakfast! And not just cheap diner pie, but actual nice pie.” Sam snorted, pushing his way into the bathroom as his brother continued to grin ear to ear.

Twisting the tap, a jet of cold water rushed out. Sam cupped his hands, splashing it against his face, no matter how unpleasant it may feel, to try and wash away some of the weariness from his long night. “Dean,” he shouted, “we got any wooden stakes in the boot?”

A pause. “Yeah, I think so, why?”

Sam smiled, then caught himself in the mirror, the curve of his lips dropping back down. “I was thinking, she’s a Trickster now, right? So a wooden stake should kill her.” There was a grunt in reply.

Sam threw one last handful of water onto his face, rubbing his eyes and pushing his pair back. He scrubbed against his teeth with the bristly old brush he’d had for god knows how long and spat, when Dean shouted “Cas is back with the coffee! You gotta see this pie, Sammy! It must be the sexiest pie in the world!” then slightly quieter “Dude, what the hell took you so long? I thought you’d gone after Atë on your own.”

Sam left the bathroom, taking a polystyrene cup from the smirking angel. “Not quite,” Castiel said, almost gleefully, biting his lip to supress laughter, “I managed to track her though, and found out where she is hiding.” Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t get what’s funny about that.” Dean took his coffee and pie from the angel, baffled by how he managed to carry everything.

“Oh no, it’s not that,” he tried to cover, “Uh, Samandriel told me a joke. A funny joke. Telepathically. In Enochian. So you wouldn’t get it.” Dean frowned, but brushed it off as Castiel being a typical, peculiar angel.

“Whatever dude. Let’s just get packed up here so we can go and ice the bitch.”

“Yes. I agree with that idea, Dean.”

Sam just chuckled at the two awkward men in front of him. It didn’t take a fool to see that Dean wasn’t only into women, and Sam most certainly wasn’t a fool. It seemed though, that his brother and the angel were fools.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wait up a second Cas, we’re on the road, you can’t just tell me you don’t have an address,” Dean said, his voice rising as his fingers curled around the steering wheel, nails digging into the wheel itself. Sam was glad he’d resigned himself to the backseat now, letting the hapless not-couple ride in the front.

“No, I can feel her. I can direct you, and tell you when we are close, but I do not know where she is.” That was partially a lie: yes, Castiel could sense her, but he also knew exactly where she was. Dean didn’t need to know that though.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, you can feel her?!” Dean said rather jealously. Sam sucked his cheeks in to bite on so he didn’t start laughing. Between them continually acting like a married couple, and Dean’s jealous over protectiveness of the angel, sometimes it was hard for the younger Winchester to hold himself together.

“I can sense her energy, as I can sense everyone’s. Hers is just strong enough to follow and pinpoint.”

“Great, well, make sure you don’t feel her too much, Cas, you know, like with Meg.” Dean pouted, making him seem more and more childlike in Sam’s eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean, Dean? I was only practicing what the pizza man had taught me…” Dean, in his angered protest, kept his eyes trained on the road ahead.

“But Meg, of all peop- things! Really, Cas? You’re an angel!” Sam’s cheeks were aching at this point, and he could’ve swore he tasted blood in his mouth with how hard he was biting on his cheeks. Thing was though, he couldn’t really tell: it was a taste he’d grown so used to during his stint in Hell that sometimes it was an aftertaste lingering in his mouth as a reminder.

“I had the desire to practice, and Meg was the only one present,” Cas replied, gazing off down the road. His head snapped to an upcoming turning, and he said “Left.”

“What?”

“Go left, Dean. It’s not very difficult.”

For Sam, the rest of the journey was incredibly repetitive: Dean bickering about things long passed, Cas barking out directions. It really was comedy gold for the younger Winchester, and he allowed himself to relax, knowing this hunt was just a normal, regular hunt. No Leviathans, no Archangels, no pending apocalypses and no Kings of Hell. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a hunt like this, the three of them, heck, even the last time just he and Dean had a regular, gank-the-monster-and-go type hunt. And who was Sam to deny his excitement at it, hunting with his brother and his best friend (and possibly sometime soon his brother’s boyfriend). He wondered what John would say if he saw his two boys riding in the Impala with an angel, now firmly a team together, reliant on each other.

There were benefits to having three in a hunting team, namely if two fought there was always the third to try and calm the tension, and they could look in more directions on a hunt, cover their backs better, and intercept more oncoming attacks. And with one of the members being an angel, well, that was helpful beyond words. All he needed to do was touch a demon and it dropped dead.

Sam continued his train of thought, considering all the benefits of their little group, avoiding the cons best as he could. The odd one, like all of them had serious issues, was one that liked to keep returning to the forefront of his mind though. It was only when Cas told Dean to pull up with a mischievous grin plastered over his face that Sam abandoned the train to see where they were. His car door opened, and in front of them towered a massive hotel, red carpet and all.

A door man stood by the door, and offered up a forced, fake smile when he saw the three walking up the red carpet. Castiel was the only one who looked like he belonged there, trench coat billowing out behind him as he led the two brothers up the carpet. Dean was looking about wide-eyed, more surprised than anything that they finally weren’t headed to a run-down house, or an abandoned factory. Sam was still grinning from ear to ear, glancing between Dean and Castiel. The door man sighed as they walked past, shaking his head as the door swung shut.

“Uh, what do we do now? We can’t just walk- wow…” The older hunter looked around him, the hotel lavishly decorated, marble under their feet, a fountain directly in front of them, the check-in counter staffed by women that would make Dean go shaky at the knees any day. He inhaled quickly, in awe. Regal furnishings filled the corners, where the rich were perched, talking amongst themselves, the windows framed with deep red curtains, edged by golden tassels.

Castiel walked forward to the desk, smirking at one of the women and nodding ever so slightly. She grinned in response and stepped from behind the desk, assuming a poker face. Sam, whilst having a similar reaction to his brother, gripped the wooden stake hidden under his jacket. It all seemed too good to be true.

“Sam Winchester,” she said with a smile, “Dean Winchester,” she said with a little malice, “please, follow me. Atë is expecting you.” Dean sighed, ogling her. Her shirt was low-cut, her black hair falling in curls over her shoulders, her lips pouting and pink. Her features were soft and feminine, but there was something... else to her which didn’t quite fit. Maybe it was the sharp, brutal determination in her eye that Dean had only seen in a few people, or maybe it was the way that the poisoned maliciousness in her voice fitted her so well. A few years ago, and Dean would’ve liked to take her back to the motel he was staying in for the night, but now, that wouldn’t feel right. Didn’t stop him trying to flirt though.

“And I thought you were Atë, because girl, you look like a goddess,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk. Nope, he hadn’t lost it, Dean assured himself. She took a step towards him and reached out, trailing a manicured nail down his cheekbone, smiling suggestively at him. It left a thin trail of red down his skin.

“Don’t embarrass yourself, Dean,” she replied, and the soft caress turned into a slap, leaving his cheek bright red. She smiled innocently, and turned towards the elevator. “Follow me, please.” Sam reluctantly started walking after the other two walked on. He caught up to his brother in the ribs with his elbow. “What?” The older Winchester hissed between his teeth.

“She says that Atë is waiting for us, meaning she knows we’re here, that she’s been watching us, and you try and flirt with her!”

“Oh… Oh, we’re in deep shit, Sammy.”

“You don’t say.” The elevator doors closed behind them, and Sam turned, trying to not feel so cramped when he noticed her staff badge. “Dean,” he whispered under his breath, hoping the woman wouldn’t hear him.

“What now?”

“Look at her badge, Dean. Look at her name.” Dean peered around as inconspicuously as he could, and frowned.

“Sif. So what. Her name’s a little unusual.”

“Sif, as in the Goddess of War.” Sam said as quietly as he could, desperately trying not to alert her to their knowledge, but he knew it was probably in vain. She likely already knew.

“Oh.” Dean paused. “This is turning out a too much like the Elysian for my comfort.”

“Except this time we can’t expect an Archangel to bust in and save our asses. Because he’s dead,” Sam hissed bitterly. Dean winced, and looked around the enclosed space, noticing a camera in the corner focused on them. He was about to mention it to Cas, who stood behind him, smirking all the time, when the elevator dinged. “Fuck,” the brothers said in unison, and followed Sif out of the elevator.

She led them down a red and cream, until they stood outside room 69. Dean, despite himself, snorted immaturely, making a mental note that Atë had a brilliant sense of humor, even if she was slightly psychotic. Sif turned back to them and smiled politely. “Please wait here, Atë will see you in a moment.” She went to open the door, then turned as if she’d forgotten something. “Oh, and Sam? Leave the stake outside please? Many a hunter have tried that. It doesn’t work.” She said bluntly, and went into the room.

The three hunters were left outside, two of which were beginning to panic at their apparent uselessness in the situation, one of which was highly amused, and barely holding themselves together enough to keep from cracking.

“What if there’s more of them. More Pagan gods, in there? What if Kali-“

“Don’t mention Kali Dean. Just don’t” Dean furrowed his brow.

“Uh, okay? Touchy. But seriously, Sam, what if there is more of them?” Sam shrugged nervously, rubbing his palm on the hilt of the stake.

“We have an angel with us, right Cas?” Cas turned to face them, his lips scrunched together.

“If there were to be a gathering of Pagan gods in there, I would be of little use to you. I may be an angel, but Pagan gods are powerful creatures. They may not be my God, but they were once worshiped, and their power lingers on. It would explain why the energy signal was so strong.”

The hunters were left for what seemed like a nerve-wracking eternity outside room 69, throwing what if scenarios at each other and plotting virtually suicidal plans which might have them survive this hunt. Sam couldn’t help considering the irony of his earlier thoughts of how this would be a nice, uncomplicated hunt which he could enjoy. Yeah, right. When was anything uncomplicated for the Winchesters anymore?

The door creaked open, a woman with short, ruffled brown hair and sharp cheekbones stood behind. Her body was that of a youthful woman in her mid-twenties at most, but her eyes were worn, small wrinkles folding around them. “Please do come in, Atë will see you now, boys.” Sam glanced at her name tag.

“Minerva,” he mumbled under his breath, “Roman goddess of Wisdom and Crafts.” She smiled at him as an old woman would to a young boy who’d broken his generation’s stereotype, a hand resting on her hip.

“Well, boy, you’re certainly well-read for your age. Impressive.” Sam smiled slightly at the compliment, and dipped his head in an instinctive bow.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Dean muttered something like ‘geek’ under his breath, but Cas smiled onwards. Minerva would be a good influence to have around Sam after all that had happened in his life.

Glancing around, Dean concluded that the room was most definitely bigger on the inside. Or smaller on the outside. The rest of the hotel looked tacky in comparison to room 69: paintings hung off the wall, each a masterpiece detailing ancient religions; the room itself was a rich blue, the ceiling high set with a glass chandelier suspended in the middle. They followed Minerva to the other side of the room, where they stopped once more in front of a plain door Dean could've swore wasn't there a moment ago.

"Go through now, boys, Atë is waiting," Minerva said with a smile, and walked away, leaving them. Cas was bright red at this point. Sam looked toward Dean, and twisted the door knob slowly, letting it swing open of its own accord.

What Dean expected was a beautiful women, preferably in a tight, short dress to leave little to the imagination. What he got was far from it. What Sam expected could never be as good as what he got.

Perched in what seemed to be a throne, legs kicked over the side, white Grecian style dress riding up his thigh was someone they'd long believed dead. A golden jeweled neck piece fit for an Empress hung around his neck, rubies and sapphires, emeralds and diamonds hung from it, probably more for bragging than actual taste. Golden hair curled into his face, brushing over his forehead, thick eyeliner drawing attention to his face. Lips were pouted and bright red, with overly blushed cheeks and a cheeky grin.

"Greetings to the muttonheads of planet Earth!" He bellowed, swinging his legs over to walk towards his visitors. "Too much? I was trying for a new look, whaddya think?" He threw his arms out dramatically and twirled, the white fabric whirling around his knees. The dress was far tighter than he’d originally realised, and Dean shuddered, looking away quickly.

"You're alive... Gabriel, you're alive!" The archangel grinned as Sam threw his arms around his neck, pulling Gabriel into his chest. "God I missed you!"

"Uh, what the actual fuck is going on?" Dean asked, stunned. Castiel laughed. He'd known all along about Gabriel's little plan, and Dean's expression was easily worth the effort it took to keep the prank secret.

"Well, I'm alive," said Gabriel, his voice muffled by a blockade of Sam, "But not for long if Sam doesn't loosen his death grip." The younger Winchester let go almost immediately, the blood rushing to his cheeks. "Sorry," he mumbled, grinning cheerily.

"Another question: why the hell are you dressed in women's things dude? I mean, seriously?" Gabriel smirked maliciously, and Dean wished he'd never asked.

"I wouldn't try to be condescending if I were you, Winchester. Do pink lacy panties ring a bell?" Dean’s face dropped almost immediately. "Shut up," he grumbled, pouting grumpily as his cheeks flushed.

"I heard that, and personally, I think you're doing too much talking with that mouth, and not enough kissing. Gotta fix that now, Dean-o!" Dean's body twisted involuntarily, pushed forward by an invisible force until there was barely anything between Cas and him.

"Gabriel, what the he-" Dean was cut off as Castiel threw an arm around his waist, the other sneaking around his shoulders, and crashed their lips together. Crashed was the only way Dean could describe it, as there was so much force, so much passion and so much power behind the action that no other word could've done it justice. He didn't think even crashed did it justice. It was amazing, so imperfectly perfect that Dean couldn’t have asked for more, and he sank into it, a sweet euphoria. The taste of last night’s blueberry pie lingered on Castiel’s lips, making Dean lust even, his own hand curling into a fist around chunks of black hair.

Castiel lived in the moment, however short it may be for him, savoring the effects of Gabriel’s plan. He knew this was what the archangel had in mind, and when he pulled himself and Dean together, lips pressing, Castiel decided the most beautiful of all his Father’s creations was stood in front of him. From his rough skin decorated in light stubble, to his soft, velvety lips, his structured, beautifully defined jaw to green eyes he could easily get lost in given the chance, Dean was definitely the most beautiful, flawless thing his Father had ever created.

“Now, this is the part where I say to you get a room, buuuuttt,” Gabriel held up a finger with a cheeky grin, “I’ve already booked you the honeymoon suite in Hotel du Loki!” With a snap of his fingers, the newly formed couple were gone, leaving Sam, Gabriel, and the white Grecian dress Sam couldn’t keep his eyes off alone. Gabriel noticed and smirked. “I see Sammich has a kinky side. You like cross-dressing, huh?”

“Never thought about it before, but you look… Wow…” The archangel took a step closer to the hunter, who’d backed away slightly, and placed a hand on his chest.

“Thank Dad you’re not like your brother when it comes to admitting things. If I hadn’t have done that, they’d probably still be eye-fucking into the next century. You’ve got a lot to thank me for, Sammy.” Sam realized where this game was headed, and was more than eager to play along.

“And how could I possibly thank you?” Sam asked innocently. Gabriel jumped up, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders and legs around his waist.

“Kiss me.”

Sam lent forward, slowly, their lips brushing past each other’s first, and the air came to life, sparky and electric all around them. Sam looked into the golden eyes staring at him, the corners of his lips upturning as they collided, invisible fireworks going off around them. The room grew hotter as the passion built, Sam’s hand buried in Gabriel’s hair, Gabriel pulling on Sam’s, drawing moans from the hunter which sent shivers down his spine. Eyeliner was smudged and nails dug in as they quickened in their dance of love and power, tongues sparring against each other in a battle neither wanted to win. Sam’s fingers grasped at the white dress, pulling to try and make them closer, let their skin press skin in this primitive moment, when they both lost all consciousness of who they were and what they stood for.

Muscles writhed and twisted under each other, and Sam backed Gabriel into the wall violently. The archangel bit down on the hunter’s lip in retaliation, drawing blood which fell between the two, unaware of anything other than each. Sam grabbed one of his lover’s wrists and pinned it against the wall, and Gabriel fought back, raking his nails down the Winchester’s back, forcing the hunter the arch into him, to really feel him. The angel’s legs tightened around Sam’s waist, making the hunter hyper aware of just what was going on between them, driving him further in his fight for dominance, pushing his lips harder, harder against Gabriel until it took all he had not to tear the white dress seam from seam where they stood (and clung).

Finally, Sam pulled away for air he needed but didn’t want. “That was incredible,” Gabriel panted out, though the lust in his eyes said he wasn’t satisfied yet. And neither was Sam.

“I fucked a demon. I’m not exactly vanilla, Gabe. I know how to please someone.”

“That you definitely do.” Gabriel paused for a moment, then grinned his trademark grin at his moose, hair all messed up. “I think it’s time we got a room.”

Sam grinned, running his thumb along a line of smudged eyeliner. “Agreed.”

And with a click, the room was empty.


End file.
